


Call me the worst

by Builder



Series: Jonestown [2]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dark, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Sickfic, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 13:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14619486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Now that Jess considers it, that was stupid.  Setting up her girlfriend to find her stiff corpse in the morning…it might be the most horrific thing she’s ever done.  Besides maybe being so cold and lonely as she was dying that she’d been willing to risk that_____Jess tries to end her life.  Nat gives her a reason to start over again.





	Call me the worst

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051
> 
> This is so dark, very obvious trigger warnings. My apologies.
> 
> I'm not exactly sure where this came from; I literally started typing and this came out.
> 
> For those of you who are going to ask: I'm having a severely hard time right now, and I'm not well. But I'm "ok". I'm not in danger. Please don't worry about me, even though my sick mind gave you this fic.

_____

Call me a sinner

Call me a saint

Tell me it’s over

I’ll still love you the same

_____

It’s 4:30 in the morning when Nat knocks on the bathroom door.  Jess has been in there since 3:06, but when Nat asks how long it’s been, she lies and says she doesn’t know.  She’d been watching the red glare of the alarm clock cycle through hours and minutes since 2:30, and the numbers had just flickered past 3:05 when her stomach had suddenly had enough.

“Must’ve been a while, though,” Nat says, thumbing the red mark on Jess’s cheek where the toilet seat has bitten into her skin.  She turns her knuckles under Jess’s jaw to test for a fever.  Jess is sweaty and freezing, but she knows her temperature is alright.

Nat frowns.  “Did it come on suddenly?”  She peers into the porcelain bowl.  “What’re you puking up, anyway?”

Jess tries to flop her arm over the mess in the toilet, but Nat grabs her hand and kisses it before moving it to her lap.

“Don’t,” Jess croaks, and she reaches up to flush.  Nat’s quick, though, and she looks from the frothy vomit, dyed bluish from the pills’ coating, to Jess’s wan face.

Slowly Nat’s forehead wrinkles.  She squeezes Jess’s hand.  Then wraps her arms around Jess’s waist and pulls her into her chest.  “What the hell?” Nat whispers into her greasy hair.  “What the hell were you thinking?”

What had she been thinking when she’d been popping the pills like candy?  That they’d tasted bitter, worsened with the vodka she’d swallowed down after the fact.  That the air coming from the vent on the floor of her bedroom had been icy on her feet.  That the sensations were there, but dialed back too much to be truly felt.

At some point, she’d crawled into bed beside Nat.  Now that Jess considers it, that was stupid.  Setting up her girlfriend to find her stiff corpse in the morning…it might be the most horrific thing she’s ever done.  Besides maybe being so cold and lonely as she was dying that she’d been willing to risk that

She’s not dying, though.  Maybe she was, for a while, but now she’s just sick.  Even the buzz of the vodka and the fog of too many antidepressants is starting to wear off.  She’s heavy and sad now.  Jess hiccups into Nat’s shoulder.  She’s positive that’s not the answer to the original question, but it’ll have to do.

Jess clambers back over the toilet bowl and heaves, the tang of chemicals meeting the fire of alcohol and the sourness of stomach acid.  It makes her flinch and slam her eyes shut as her throat turns inside out.

“Ok.  That’s, uh, that’s good,” Nat says.  She pats Jess on the back.  Jess wishes she wouldn’t.  She wishes Nat would go back to bed and put distance between herself and Jess’s would-be corpse.  But she won’t.  And Jess will have to live with it.  Literally.

Jess coughs weakly.  The tremor going in every inch of her body throws off her breathing, and she sucks in air just as her body sees fit to expel a fine mist of bile.  She chokes.  Gags again.  Pressure changes in her head, and Jess loses hearing in one ear.

“Hey, breathe,” Nat says over the buzzing that’s overtaking her dull senses.

“I’m fucking trying,” Jess mutters.  But the words are lost somewhere between her brain and her tongue, and all that comes out is a groan.

“I know.”  So maybe Nat can understand her after all.  Or she’s just giving sympathy.  Either way, Jess isn’t exactly in the mood to hear it.  She bats at Nat with one shaky hand, and it does nothing but get her wrist caught in the redhead’s tight grip.

“You’re…you’re not in control right now.”  Nat sniffles.  Jess can’t exactly hear her, but Nat’s crying.

Holy shit.  Nat’s crying.

Jess isn’t even crying.  She is thinking, though, and that’s a good sign.  Well, if she’s counting good as being closer to life than death.  The more coherent Jess gets, the less she likes the feeling.  “Stop,” she moans.

It’s not aimed directly at Nat, but she does stop.  She leaves her hand between Jess’s shoulder blades and draws in a deep, slow breath.  “Ok.”

Jess tries and fails to swallow a gag.  She wishes that would stop on command too.

“Do you…um.  Want to go to the hospital?” Nat asks in a whisper.

“Fuck.  No.”  Jess’s spine arches as she heaves again, and her eyes almost roll up in her head against the pressure and burning sourness of it.  “Fuck.”

“Jess, I don’t…”  Nat takes one hand off Jess to cover her own mouth and trap the sob that cuts off her words.

“Me either.”  Jess’s vision swims, and she puts both elbows on the toilet seat to suspend her head between her hands.  Her eyes feel puffy as she forces her cheeks upward in what’s surely a ridiculous face.  This is a ridiculous situation to say the least.  “Fuck.”

“I think you should go to the hospital.”

Jess thinks she’s going to throw up.  Now that the majority of the controlled substances are out of her system, she actually feels nauseous instead of just high.  Half the problem is that she’s feeling at all.  There’s a razor edge to the curdling in her gut, the ache in her bent knees, the chill in the climate-controlled air.  Jess isn’t sure she likes it.

It’s different, though, from the numbness that’s been spread over her life lately.  And in a way, she’s been chasing it.  More and more alcohol, more and more fighting…it’s all been an attempt to surpass the seemingly infinite threshold of nothingness her body’s been holding onto.  Or maybe it’s all been in her mind.

“I am…not…going to the fucking hospital,” Jess spits, and the sound echoes loudly in the one ear that’s not still clogged.  The sensation brings on vertigo, and she closes her eyes against it.  That only makes it worse, though, and she tips sideways before she has the opportunity to self-correct.

“Alright, stay with me,” Nat says.  She wedges her shoulder into Jess’s armpit and supports her limp torso with her chest.  Maybe it’s another embrace.  Or maybe it’s just to keep her off the floor.

“’M awake,” Jess protests.  She’s not passing out.  The shimmering around the edges of her visual field is not the kind that steals consciousness, though she’s at a loss to explain exactly how and why it’s different.  She wants to sleep for the next decade, but also maybe go running or go to a music festival or jump out of a plane…  In a thrilling and decidedly non-suicidal way.

Fuck that.  She’s still high.

“You’re awake.  That’s good,” Nat whispers.  It’s hard to tell whether Nat’s actually talking to Jess or just muttering to herself.  The vibrations of the words coming up through Nat’s collarbones is soothing, and it reminds Jess of traffic noise outside her window, of letting the water run while she brushes her teeth.  Little things she isn’t supposed to enjoy, but does anyway.

Like dying with her face practically in her girlfriend’s tits.

Except that she’s not dying anymore.  Nat’s making sure of that.

“Are you gonna barf some more?” she asks, peeling Jess’s bangs back off her clammy forehead.

“I hope not.”

“Did you get it all up, do you think?”

Oh.  It’s not an are you ok? kind of question.  It’s an are you still poisoned? one.  There’s a subtle difference.

Jess shrugs and makes herself dizzy all over again.  She swallows hard, tasting the remnants of acid and liquor that coat her teeth.  She’s more lucid than she’s been in the past couple of hours, but she still feels like she’s been at the kind of college party where xanax and weed and booze coalesce with loose limits.  People die of that, too.

Nat sighs.  “You’ll kill me if I drag your ass to the hospital, right?”

“You bet.”

“Then…oh, god, you’re gonna kill me for this one too,” Nat says.  She flutters her fingertips down the side of Jess’s neck in a display of tenderness that Jess knows is also stealthily checking her pulse.  “You feel up to sticking your fist down your throat?”

“I’m not the one with the eating disorder,” Jess mumbles.

“Yeah, just the drinking disorder, I know.”  Nat shifts, and the small change in movement makes Jess’s vision burst into glitter again.  “It’s either this, or I’m taking you to get your stomach pumped, though,” she says firmly.  Maybe with a slight crackle of more unshed tears.

“Fucking Christ.”  Jess’s hands shake, and her palms are clammy against the toilet seat.  She imagines tasting the salt of her sweat, maybe the metallic tang of the liquor bottle’s foil label clinging to her fingers in an essence.

“Please?”  Nat’s not pushing down the desperate note in her voice.  “I mean, I’ll do it for you.”  She gives an uncomfortable laugh, and the hairs on the back of Jess’s neck stand up.  She doesn’t think she’s ever heard something less funny.  “If you’re gonna be a baby about it.”

“God,” Jess rasps.  “Fucking…no, ok?”  She holds her trebling fingers in front of her face.  “You can give me mouth-to-mouth later if I still need…that kind of care.”  It misses the mark, but at least she’s lucid enough to attempt the joke.  Again, if she’s counting the positives as, well, positive.

“Ok.”  Nat presses her lips together and tenderly sweeps a lock of sweaty hair away from Jess’s face.  “Just…do it, ok?  Please?  You’re…you’re scaring me, babe.”  Her voice gets quieter, as if she’s saying there, I finally said it.

Jess has her hand halfway into her mouth when her delayed-reaction brain sees fit to respond.  “Me too,” she sputters around her knuckles.  The accompanying eye-roll makes her feel like passing out.  She’s about to curse Nat, but nausea spikes again, and this time it’s a good thing.  A tablespoon or so of foul-tasting liquid dribbles down the back of her hand and hangs in strings over the toilet water.

“Ugh.”  Jess pushes one more time and dry gags, so she pulls out and rests her forehead in her elbow to get her bearings back.  

“Alright,” Nat murmurs.  “Good.  That was…good.”

“That was…disgusting.”  A chill sneaks up Jess’s spine, and the perspiration around her neck and under her arms flash-freezes on her skin.  So does the spit running down her wrist.

“Makes me feel a little better, though.”  Nat’s warm hand quiets the goosebumps on Jess’s arm.  “Knowing all that’s not still inside you.”

Sure, the pills and the liquor are all either spit up or metabolized, but Nat’s wrong.  Jess blinks and shakes her head weakly.  Even though her body’s empty, her mind and her heart and all the other nooks and crannies are full of problems squirreled away for later, to some indeterminable future where she’ll sit down and deal.  Or die.  Except that now she won’t.

“Since…since when did this become all about you?” Jess croaks, wiping her mouth on the hand that’s not polluted and effectively polluting it too.

Nat unwinds a length of toilet paper and hands it over.  She gives a small, sad smile, as if she’s not sure if she wants to break from the joke with her reply.  She seems to stick with it as she shrugs and says, “My bed, my rules.”

“Huh.”  Jess cleans herself up as best she can with the flimsy wad of tissue.  “Fair enough.”

But is it fair?  Jess got the short end of the stick, being cheated out of her own death.  But she also feels pressure to give Nat an empty thank-you, as if there’s a some kind of prescribed social exchange for situations like this.  She splits the difference and avoids Nat’s eye all together.

“What do you want to do?” Nat asks after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Huh?  Like…about this?”  If it involves a psychiatrist or a hospital, Jess will say no, thank you.  A cup of coffee cut with Captain Morgan would be a better start, though she doubts Nat will be game.

“I was thinking more along the lines of getting up off the bathroom floor,” Nat says, “But if you want to talk about that…”

“Nope.”

“That’s what I thought.”  Nat reaches up to cup Jess’s cheek.  She moves slowly, deliberately.  Ordinarily Jess wouldn’t stand for a purposeless, lingering touch like that.  But nothing right now is ordinary.  The longer Jess sits here, the better she feels.  And that makes everything worse.  The poignant sting of stomach acid in her throat diminishes back toward numbness.

 “You have to do something, though.”  Nat’s voice is steady now, but her eyes are pleading.

 “…go back to bed,” Jess groans.  If she can’t be dead, she may as well be unconscious.  

 “Mm, too soon, I think,” Nat says.  “I want to keep an eye on you.”

 “I’m not, like, your lost dog or something.”  Jess jerks her chin up, displacing Nat’s hand.

 “Unless maybe you’ve changed your mind about the hospital?”

 “Ha.  You’re funny.”  She doesn’t even crack a smile.

 “And you’re not, Jess,” “Nat says, emotion creeping into her tone again.  “I’m serious.  I’ll do whatever you want.”

 Jess gives her a look. 

“Except take you to bed.  In any way, shape, or form.”  Nat giggles, and the tension between them begins to crumble.  Or maybe Jess just gives up again.

“Like what?  Play cards?” she scoffs.  “You always cheat.”

“Hey, poker is a game of skill,” Nat jibes.  “How about something non-competitive.  Like…a walk.”

“You want to go for a walk?”  Jess doesn’t mean for it to come out in such a dumbfounded tone, but the affect works.  “At like, four fucking thirty in the morning?” 

Nat shrugs.  “Yeah.  So?”  She rises gracefully from her knees and stretches both hands down to Jess. 

“You’re fucking crazy.”  

Nat’s hands close around Jess’s wrists, and she starts to pull.  “Yeah,” she says again.  “So?”  

Jess does her best to be dead weight, but Nat’s stronger than she is for the moment, and she leverages Jess to her feet.  “Come on.”

Jess slouches under Nat’s supervision and washes her hands, then stumbles into the bedroom to throw on jeans with her sweat-stained t-shirt.  Nat offers one of her own hoodies, and Jess acts annoyed, though she relishes the scent of stale sweat and perfume that cling to the fabric.  There she goes sensing things again.  And feeling.  She isn’t sure she likes it so much anymore. 

Nat intertwines her fingers with Jess’s and leads her down the hall toward the elevator.  Nat pummels the up arrow, and the high tech contraption clatters on its track, though it’s only loud in comparison to the silent tower.  Jess’s brain is so empty that Nat’s touch may as well be flames licking up her arm and across her chest.  The heat is good.  Until it isn’t. 

“Um.  You know the ground is the other way, right?”  Jess is suddenly aware of the rasp in her voice.  It didn’t seem as bad when Nat was the one leading the conversation.

They step into the elevator.  “I changed my mind.”  Nat selects the button for the helipad.  The roof.   

Jess furrows her brow and looks from the glowing white button to Nat.  “You are crazy.”

Nat doesn’t say anything until the elevator door slides open with a ding.  “I’m not stupid, though.”  She brings Jess’s hand up to her mouth.  Pressing.  Not quie kissing.  “I’m not letting you near the edge.  I’m not letting you go.”

It’s brighter than Jess expects it to be outside.  The sun hasn’t crested the horizon, but the sky glows a greyish white that makes her sensitive eyes water.  She’s not crying.  Or if she is, she doesn’t mean to be.  

Jess lets Nat drive, pulling her forward a slow step at a time until they’re standing in the center of the round platform.  The city sprawls out below  them, blanketed in the kind of stillness that can only be found in early morning.  No cars move down the maze of streets, but a slight breath keeps the emptiness from seeming permanent.  The lightest breeze ruffles Jess’s hair.  It ruffles Nat’s too, and the strands falling across her face unveil a smile.  

She catches Jess looking, and it falters.  She sighs, long and deeply.  “Why’d you do it, Jess?”

Jess knew it was coming.  She’s probably lucky to have avoided the question this long.  But Nat’s not stupid, and she beneath it all, she’s kind.  She bites her lip, but doesn’t drop Jess’s gaze.   

“I…”  Jess swallows, tasting the last dregs of sour spit and alcohol and medicine.  Can she tell the truth?  For a second she chickens out.  It’ll hurt too much.  But what on earth is left in her to hurt?  Or even to feel?  “I…I don’t know.”  

A ray of sunligt crests the building to the east, and Jess’s eyes stream with the sudden intensity.  She wants to blink away the tears, but she can’t look away from Nat.  The words wad up in her throat and pour out in a choked sob.  “I don’t know.  I don’t fucking know.”   

The brightness cuts off as Nat’s shoulder materializes under Jess’s face.  The same scent of musk and outdated florals blooms, and the warmth of Nat’s arms drapes Jess’s shoulders like a blanket.  “I don’t know either.  You’re not the only one who doesn’t have a fucking clue.”  She sniffs heavily, inhaling until gravity forces Jess to match the breath.   

“We’re gonna figure this out,” Nat murmurs, her lips ghosting over Jess’s ear.  “It’s gonna be ok.”

The sun breaks an inch higher in the sky, spreading light and heat more broadly across the helipad.  Jess feels the warmth, but something still makes her shiver.  The unknown thing that’s beginning to fill her chest and the space behind her forehead.  The thing that makes her flinch at the sound of Nat’s words, but believe them anyway.

  _____

I’ll always keep you inside

You healed my heart and my life

And you know I’ve tried

_____


End file.
